


My Juliet

by leet911



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Beatrice backstory, F/F, Implied/Referenced Suicide, One Shot, Spoilers, background Shannon/Mary if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:53:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29099112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leet911/pseuds/leet911
Summary: Beatrice hasn't felt beautiful since high school.  Not since she started thinking of herself as Beatrice. She had a different name back then, one she hadn't chosen for herself. And she had been attached to it, in a way a lot of children are.  But names chosen by parents are rarely meaningful.  They’re only aspirational.Or, five times Beatrice was called ”beautiful”, and one time she believed it.
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 4
Kudos: 113





	My Juliet

* * *

Rosaline used to call her beautiful all the time, but that was back when they were teenagers and Beatrice still believed in love. Nowadays, Rosaline is a rock star, but these songs don’t mean the same thing they used to way back in high school. Because Beatrice is here, with Sister Camila, at a concert in Seville played by British pop sensation Rosaline.

Beatrice stands in the crowd, with thousands of screaming fans around them. Even in their civilian clothes, Camila and her don’t really fit in with their high collars and severe buns. Rosaline sings though, and even though Beatrice knows it’s an act, she feels like she’s in high school again. Rosaline is exactly the same as she remembers. On stage, Rosaline is powerful, wonderful, delightful. She is awesome in her intensity, confident in her ability, and her music rocks the crowd to the core.

Of course Beatrice has heard all of these songs before. She looked them all up after finding out Rosaline actually pursued the dreams they used to talk about. But seeing Rosaline in person, feeling the beat of the music, hearing her voice sing about those days they used to spend together, it feels like she’s singing directly to Beatrice. And these are those scraps of poetry Rosaline used to scrawl in their notebooks, next to the doodles that went with their inside jokes.

Camila has no idea that they know each other, that Beatrice is anything other than just another sister who happens to share some of her taste in music and isn’t afraid to bend the rules sometimes.

So when the chords of a new song start, Camila screams along with the crowd, but Beatrice’s heart stops. Because this is her song, the one that Rosaline worked on every day the spring that Beatrice got sent away, the one she had never heard finished, and never thought she would.

"For all of you out there, here's a song from the upcoming album, it's called _My Juliet_."

So Rosaline sings about Capulets and Montagues, about love and life and loss. And Beatrice wonders if there’s anyone at all who remembers that way back in high school, Rosaline’s best friend was named Juliet. She wonders how Rosaline feels about those posh private school days, because maybe Juliet was a little more than a friend, but that was absolutely not allowed at the Saint Margaret Ward Academy for Girls.

_And my Juliet is beautiful..._

When the song ends, Beatrice is crying, because she feels like a teenager again, but also because she knows this is a lie. The song is too perfect. That wasn’t Juliet (the real Juliet). That was the idea — the concept — of Juliet, a Juliet who doesn’t exist anymore. And Beatrice knows that Rosaline has a boyfriend back home, because she’s seen all the tabloid covers. And she knows high school was an awful long time ago, and that she went to Switzerland, so there can’t possibly be any blame, but still it hurts. It feels like a lie. Because even though Romeo and Juliet used to be their thing, Juliet doesn’t feel beautiful anymore. And Rosaline is a rock star, but she doesn't know Juliet from the song that shares her name.

So in her mind, that’s the day she truly became Sister Beatrice. No more past, no more hopeful yearning. Maybe there was a part of her that thought this arrangement wasn't permanent when she first joined the church, but no more. Now, she’s leaving behind those concerns and devoting herself to the cause. Now, she is Sister Beatrice of The Order of the Cruciform Sword, and beauty is not for her.

* * *

Beatrice is fuming, fists clenched until her nails are hurting her palms. Other than that though, she appears calm on the outside. Her face is blank, staring forward as she replays the fight in her mind and struggles to get her anger under control.

"Sister Beatrice.”

"Sister Shannon," Beatrice says in between deep breaths, hoping her voice does not shake. It wouldn’t do to look flustered in front of the Next-In-Line. Especially not after losing a sparring match so spectacularly.

“You’re allowed to be upset. We’re not automatons.”

“I was weak,” Beatrice can’t help the venom that creeps into her voice, and she knows there are deeper reasons than Crimson calling her ugly, taunting her with being sent away by her parents. So she follows up with the mantra they’ve all heard countless times, recited so often she can do it mindlessly in an even tone. “Piety, loyalty, service.”

Shannon ignores the deflection. “Sister Crimson says hurtful things because it makes her feel powerful. But I can see you won’t give her that same power again.”

Beatrice doesn’t respond because she doesn’t know how. She respects Sister Shannon, values her insights, but she doesn’t know if she believes in herself half as much.

Shannon continues, "Sister Crimson won't be with us for much longer. Don’t worry about her. Mother Superion has decided, and not because of today, but it only further confirms she was correct."

Beatrice lets out a long breath, finally looks up into Shannon’s eyes. It’s curious, because while many prospects don’t quite make it as Sister Warriors, Beatrice has never been privy to the information in advance and definitely never any of the reasoning behind it. Not that it ever prevented other Sisters from speculating, of course. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Perceptive as always,” Shannon smiles. “I’ve chosen you for my squad, Sister Beatrice. If you accept, we’ll make it official tomorrow.”

A weight lifts from Beatrice’s chest at those words. She’s been chosen! By the next Warrior Nun! “Of course, it would be an honour to serve with you.”

A hand is extended, and Beatrice takes it in her own. Shannon’s grip is loose, though her words are pointed. “And you are beautiful. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Sister Shannon is being nice of course. It’s what any leader would say. Besides, Beatrice doesn’t feel beautiful. A little more useful maybe, but still not beautiful.

* * *

The day that Ava saves Beatrice’s life, they cling together each for their own reason. One for strength; the other for support and faith and duty. Beatrice knows that Ava saved her life back there, that Sister Crimson was ready to kill, but Ava's burst of power prevented that. Maybe there is a little bit of Shannon in Ava after all.

And Mary was right about her. Ava did come back.

So they've been driving for hours now, not really sure where they're headed, but also unwilling to stop. They need to put more distance between themselves and the Cat's Cradle.

Ava lays on the floor of the van, wounds closing as the Halo reasserts itself. Beatrice’s hands are still bloody though, and she wipes the streaks on her dark clothes. When Ava whispers to Beatrice, it is unexpected, innocuous. It’s not about running or fighting or halos or books. It’s so quiet only Beatrice can hear. "I don't think I've ever seen your hair before. It's beautiful."

And Beatrice doesn't see how that can be. But she also knows Ava is prone to hyperbole. Her hair is in disarray from the fight earlier, and trundling Ava into the car. Her hands try to smooth down the strands that have escaped from her bun. “It’s a mess.” She looks away, self-conscious.

Ava licks her lips, but Father Vincent speaks up before Ava can, slowing the car and interrupting them. "We need gas.”

They stop at the next gas station, taking turns making themselves somewhat more presentable while securing supplies. Ava has lots of requests for snacks. Camila humours her.

Beatrice uses the restroom, dresses herself appropriately once more before emerging, headpiece in place. She may have disobeyed orders from a cardinal today, but faith is still her armour and her source of pride. The cap over her hair is only a thin piece of fabric, but its symbolism bolsters her resolve.

When Beatrice returns to the car, Ava and Mary are already there, munching on candy bars. If Ava notices the head covering, she doesn’t say anything. Beatrice takes the snack that Mary offers, flexes the hand which she knows will be bruised tomorrow from punching Sister Crimson’s jaw.

She feels Ava’s eyes on her. Beatrice doesn’t feel beautiful, even when Ava smiles at her.

A little badass maybe, but not beautiful.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Ava says, even though she has no reason to.

"It's not you. It was everyone but you. My whole life, people have tried to make me into something I’m not. To make me normal, or at least acceptable. I became skilled at so many things just so I would still have value, despite my flaws, or what I’d been taught was a flaw. Of course I tried to fit in. But when you’re punished just for being different, you begin to hate what you are. And what you love. What should make you happy, only brings you pain. Pain is what made me a sister warrior.”

"Don't hate what you are. What you are is beautiful." There's that word again. And Ava says it like it matters even if Beatrice knows it can't.

Beatrice wipes the tears from her chin. She hopes she doesn’t look as pitiful as she feels. Because despite what Ava says, Beatrice can't think of herself in those terms. She hasn't felt beautiful since high school. She had a different name back then, one she hadn't chosen for herself. And maybe it used to have meaning, way back when she was young and naive, but now it all feels like a lie.

So she talks about pain instead, and the mission at hand, and quashes any thoughts she might have about beauty.

* * *

The night they fail to save the world, Mary pulls Beatrice aside when they finally stop to rest.

"I see the way you look at her."

The others are sleeping in the car, under the stars by the side of the road. Somewhere behind them, Adriel roams free, doing God knows what. And the Sister Warriors don’t have anywhere to go. But Mary is not talking about plans, even if Beatrice is their tactician. Mary is talking about Ava.

Beatrice thinks that they have other things to worry about. “We need a plan,” she says, nervous. Because she used to trust that she had seen the light, that this was God's will, but now she’s not so sure. "What do we do?" She's been a weapon her whole life at the OCS, but there was always someone to aim her. Whether that was Sister Shannon, or Mother Superion, or Father Vincent. "Where do we go?"

Mary ignores the questions, goes back to her previous topic. “Ava needs you.”

And the truth is, that has also shaken Beatrice’s faith. Because Ava looks to her for guidance, instead of God, and Ava makes Beatrice feel altogether too many things. “She needs all of us.” Another deflection.

“You are beautiful," Mary says. "But she’s the Warrior Nun. And you know how it usually ends for the Warrior Nun. Don’t make the same mistake as me.”

Beatrice doesn't like the implications, neither about herself, nor what she thinks could be about Shannon and Mary. She doesn't feel beautiful. She doesn't want to talk about Ava, or all her feelings surrounding Ava, or how this story could possibly end. So she does the easier thing, avoids the conversation. "I'm going to get some sleep."

Mary doesn't press the point as Beatrice heads towards the car. The nun slides into the driver's seat.

It’s not comfortable, but it's better than the cold outside. Lilith and Camila are asleep in the backseat, with no way to get between them. Ava is on the passenger side, legs curled underneath and snoring lightly. A hand reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Ava's ear. Beatrice finds herself wishing for a blanket to cover Ava with.

She knows she shouldn't feel these things. Now is not the time. But she can't stop herself. Because Ava is undeniably beautiful. Ava might not be grace, but she is courage and strength and hope. Ava is laughter, and redemption and forgiveness and acceptance.

And she doesn’t quite believe it yet, but Beatrice wants to be beautiful. For Ava.

* * *

The day they save the world, Ava doesn't want to sleep, no matter how tired they are. Beatrice knows Ava is afraid the Halo will suddenly power off or disappear, that fate will catch up with her. So Ava insists that Beatrice stay up with her. Neither of them knows what to expect.

They sit together in the hotel room, leaning against each other, touching heads as they look at the stars beyond the window. Adriel has been dead for fifteen hours, and still no change in Ava. The world seems safe, no more demons, no more Tarasks. And every little while, Ava will stretch, move her limbs, prove to herself that she is still whole.

They’ve talked the whole night already, Ava filling in those early days she had with the Halo, Beatrice sharing tales of the OCS. She’s told all the stories that are safe, all the stories about Sister Beatrice, or her fellow nuns. She doesn’t go beyond that, because Ava makes her feel like she’s sixteen again, like this is high school, and Beatrice knows she is weak.

So there’s a long pause, and of course Ava is the brave one, revealing a secret. “I didn’t kill myself, but it’s not like I never thought about it. What if I had done it?”

Beatrice gestures out to the night. “Even so, you saved the world. I think it balances out.” She puts her arms around Ava. “I’m glad you didn’t die that day.”

Ava yawns, rubs her eyes, and Beatrice finds herself sharing things she’s never told anyone else in the OCS. “My given name is Juliet. Beatrice is a chosen name.”

“What do you want me to call you?”

"I haven't been Juliet in a long time. I don't know who I am anymore." Lately, because of Ava, she remembers what it was like to be Juliet. To be ballet, piano, school newspaper, tae-kwon-do, and somehow still not good enough. To speak four languages and still be hidden away in shame because she was a little too close to her special friend.

“Were you happier when you were Juliet instead of Sister Beatrice?”

“No.” But in this moment, Sister Beatrice doesn’t feel like her true self either. Sister Beatrice feels like a persona she put on for the church. She was useful — valuable — to her sisters. _Acceptable_. But not real.

Ava straightens, turns towards Beatrice so they are facing each other. “I’ve always known you as Beatrice anyway. I like you as Beatrice.”

Beatrice looks down at Ava’s mouth then back to her eyes. Ava is the one who makes her real. She feels real around Ava. And she desperately wants to kiss Ava, but she's not sure she's allowed.

“I promise I’ll stay with you for as long as we have.” And Beatrice has no way of knowing whether that will be just this night, or the rest of the century, but she doesn’t care.

And it’s Ava who moves; Ava who presses their lips together, the barest of touches, just a hint of potential. “You are beautiful,” Ava says, full of awe. And she says it like she means it.

So Beatrice cries, because Beatrice believes her. Because for the first time in a long time, Beatrice thinks that she just might be beautiful.

* * *


End file.
